


rekindling a fading flame

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Series: love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, a little bit angsty in an i'm an old man sort of way, but mostly just romantic i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: After the Legends match, the boys go out for drinks, and soon, Stevie and Jamie are the only two left."Come back to mine," Jamie says softly.Stevie does.





	rekindling a fading flame

The match goes by far too quickly, as they always do these days, when Jamie wants them to slow down, wants to feel the sweat soaking into his clothes and the burning in his legs and the air, vibrant in his lungs, wants to feel it all for days on end.  
  
Instead, it’s over in what feels like minutes. A few of the lads are older, so they cut the halves down to forty minutes each instead of forty-five, and he hates that he’s grateful each time the whistle blows. He can feel himself getting more reckless and more frustrated with himself, with his fucking inept body as time goes on, as the Milan players try to fight back, as his teammates spray shots wide and well over the bar.  
  
Afterwards, the players all take a walk around Anfield. Some of them bring their young kids with them, too. Some of the older lads even bring their grandkids.  
  
But James and Mia hadn’t seemed enthusiastic about it when he’d brought it up to them, and it’s hardly right for them to go walking around hand in hand. It had been such an integral part of his season, when he was a player and his kids were young, to watch them wave at the crowd, to watch them kick a ball around with the other boys’ kids on the pitch. Those days are gone, though. He doesn’t hold hands with his children anymore. He doesn’t play football anymore.  
  
For a moment, it’s really, profoundly lonely. He’s managed to find himself a patch of pitch all for himself, all the others either ahead of him or behind him a ways. He sees Mickey up ahead, also alone, with that same lost look he usually wears when he comes to Anfield.  
  
Jamie doesn’t know why he keeps saying yes, when he doesn’t feel loved by them anymore, when all he feels is the pain of a mistake he made in his youth and never managed to atone for. Not enough, at least.  
  
Jamie jogs up next to him and lays a hand on his arm, and they walk together for a little while, applauding for the crowd and waving.  
  
They all go out for drinks after. Stevie’s on one side of him and Mickey’s on the other, and all the boys talk and drink and laugh for hours on end. Eventually, they start trickling home, one by one. Mickey’s one of the first to go. He sees his home as a sort of sanctuary, and Jamie wouldn’t be surprised if he’s only stuck around this long out of some misplaced sense of obligation to them, or to the club, or to his memories. Or to the cameras. God knows the cameras aren’t particularly kind to him.  
  
In the end, it’s just Jamie and Stevie, because of course it is, because it’s always just them, alone together at the end of it all.  
  
“Come back to mine,” Jamie finds himself saying, flushing as he realizes he’s thinking about Stevie’s face, and how the dim light of the bar strikes his eyes. “Come back to mine for a drink, Steve.”  
  
Stevie looks at him, gaze searching Jamie’s eyes for an answer he doesn’t know himself, and nods. He stands and helps Jamie up, too, even though they’re both sober enough to stand on their own. The contact isn’t unnecessary, though. Jamie might not need it to stand up straight, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it.  
  
God, does he ever need it.  
  
_It’s been so long_. The words tattoo themselves into his mind, pulsing through his brain with every beat of his heart.  
  
They don’t head back to the cars. Instead, they pick a direction and just start walking, hands in their pockets and arms close enough that they brush against each other with every other step.  
  
“When do you go back to Glasgow, then?” Jamie asks him. It’s the last thing he wants to ask and the first thing he needs to know. There’s always a clock ticking when it comes to them, and he’s always uneasy unless he knows how much time is left. Even when they were young and Jamie let himself indulge in silly fantasies he knew could never come to pass, even then he’d known about the clock counting down the time they had left.  
  
“The day after tomorrow. I figure I can miss one day of training. Most of the lads are away on international break anyway, and my assistants have got things under control. Besides, I missed home.”  
  
The words hang between them, and Jamie hears them for what they really are.  
  
_I missed you._  
  
He needs those words, now and then, to stave off that feeling that he’s the only one who cares.  
  
They’re walking by the Mersey, and the moon is bright above them. They pause near a bridge, and Jamie pulls his hands out of his pockets and looks around for a moment. In this corner of their city, on this moonlit night, at this late hour, nobody is around except for the two of them.  
  
“Don’t kill me for this,” he says quickly, and then his hands are on Stevie’s waist, pulling him in closer and he kisses him, long and soft and perfect.  
  
Stevie looks as dazed as Jamie feels when they pull apart. “I think we should go back to yours, maybe,” he says, a hint of flirtation in his voice.  
  
Jamie grins and leads the way back to his house.  
  
There’s a few ways this can play out, as far as Jamie’s concerned. One of them involves him being pressed against his front door and shedding his clothes and falling into bed with Stevie on top of him, or underneath him, or any delightful position they find themselves in the mood to try.  
  
Or they’ll sit on the couch, sipping slowly on bottles of beer and watching each other’s lips as they talk, and then Jamie will ask him to stay the night, and Stevie will smile regretfully and say that he’s got an early flight, or he’s promised to visit his family, and he’ll say no.  
  
Jamie’s still thinking about it when they start walking up the driveway to his house, and he snaps out of it once they get to the door and he fishes in his pockets for the keys.  
  
“Do you want me to get them?” Stevie asks, and it’s such a clumsy attempt at flirtation that it’s more endearing than anything else, and Jamie has to laugh, warm and quiet.  
  
He manages to find them a moment later, though not before Stevie’s hand slips into one of his back pockets and searches pretty thoroughly.  
  
Jamie’s getting felt up outside his own house by a man the world only knows as his teammate and friend, and he ought to be angry, probably. Instead, he’s blushing like a schoolboy and when he lets them in, Stevie pulls him back in for a kiss.  
  
“I missed you,” he confesses quietly, as they head over to the sofa. He watches Stevie flop down, spread out along the length of the couch.  
  
“I missed you, too. So much.” Stevie reaches up and pulls Jamie down on top of him, until he’s hovering, bracing the weight of his upper body on his hands so he can still look Stevie in the eyes. Their legs press comfortably against each other, and beyond their legs, there’s other parts of them, too, that haven’t been in contact in far too long.  
  
Jamie ignores his dick. “It’s during the games that I miss you most,” he admits, “I don’t think anybody else could understand how it is, like you and me do. I always just want you to be next to me, chewing on your fingernails until I hold your hand.”  
  
“I have my own matches, too. For Rangers.”  
  
“I know.” And Jamie does. He knows it so well, he can’t make himself un-know it. “But you’re ours first, right?”  
  
Stevie looks up at him. “I’m yours first,” he confirms, hands settling at Jamie’s hips, “yours first, last, and all the times in between.”  
  
Jamie can’t quite help it. He kisses him again.  
  
They stay like that for some time, until Stevie starts to squirm because he’s played eighty minutes of football and now he’s being pinned down by someone just as heavy as he is. “I’m not having sex with you on this sofa,” he says mildly, though he doesn’t complain when Jamie drops his head down to press his lips against Stevie’s neck.  
  
“Understood, captain,” Jamie says playfully, pulling away, “can I get you something to eat or drink?”  
  
Stevie smirks lasciviously.  
  
“Filthy mind,” Jamie mutters, pulling him into another kiss as they stand up.  
  
The sex is slow and perfect, and afterwards, they lie in bed together, all tangled up in each other in the best way.  
  
“Stay here tomorrow?” Jamie asks him. It’s selfish, to ask that of him, when he has to get back, but he can’t help it.  
  
Stevie nuzzles his nose against Jamie’s neck. “Just half the day, okay? Then my family for a bit, then I can come back here for the night, and then I’ll head back to Glasgow the next day.”  
  
Jamie thinks on the compromise for a moment before he agrees. “But tomorrow night, you’re buying dinner.”

Stevie laughs, and it’s not long after that they find themselves asleep.


End file.
